


Monsoon Season

by LourdesDeath



Series: Tendril Perversion [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, F/M, Flashbacks, HYDRA Trash Party, Intercrural Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mourning, Multi, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Other, Oviposition, Pederasty, Sex Pollen, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, belly inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LourdesDeath/pseuds/LourdesDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lightning strikes again, a peal of thunder like the earth being torn apart crashes through the air, shaking the building.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>The Soldier keeps his eyes on the corner of the room and sees that it was lit up, but something dark and massive is there, as tall as the room itself and wide enough to engulf the Jeepney waiting for them outside. </i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, the Winter Soldier finds something in an abandoned building that wasn't mentioned in the briefing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Extra tentacly thanks to Ichne, [howler32557038,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/howler32557038/pseuds/howler32557038) and [Zwaluw](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwaluw/pseuds/Zwaluw) for betaing this, inspiring me, and cheering me on when I got sad. Y'all are amazing.

_Quezon City, September 1973_

The building reeks of mildew, and the Soldier can momentarily see another building, tiny and made of wood, but—

> _“—A great hideout. They can’t see us from the road.”_
> 
> _“They’ll see smoke.”_
> 
> _“Not if we don’t light a fire.”_
> 
> _“C’mon B—”_

He shakes his head to rid himself of the voices. Nothing good comes of the scenes and sounds his mind shows him.

A distant splash echoes in the darkness of the building--a rookie stepping into one of the many puddles on the floor. He hears a sharp smack. “Watch your step,” growls his superior.

The soldier instinctively walks around the puddles on the floor, fearing what would happen if _he_ were to give away his position. His handlers always know when he fails to keep mission parameters, even if they’re seven floors away from him.

Lightning strikes nearby and the room is lit up. In the split second, the Soldier sees something moving to his left.

The corner where he saw movement had remained dark, so the Soldier makes his way towards it. Dripping water camouflages the sound of his boots as he pads across the room. There are small piles of rubble where the ceiling has collapsed under the weight of the water, and he can see bulges where it is likely to happen again.

He considers calling his handlers and alerting them to whatever may be in the room with him, but decides against it.

They don’t appreciate him wasting their time.

Lightning strikes again, a peal of thunder like the earth being torn apart crashes through the air, shaking the building.

The Soldier keeps his eyes on the corner of the room and sees that it _was_ lit up, but something dark and massive is there, as tall as the room itself and wide enough to engulf the Jeepney waiting for them outside.

He takes a breath. He knows he needs to call his handlers, knows this was not in the briefing—it may even have something to do with the disappearance of the men who were supposed to rendezvous with them.

An animal fear starts clawing at the back of his brain. He'd forgotten what this sort of terror felt like, how it shrieks at him, _Get out, get out, get out!_

But the thought of failure, and of the punishment that would surely follow, keeps him from fleeing. His handlers’ lives are more important than his fear.

Something wraps around his head, blocking his nose and mouth before he has a chance to scream.

The Soldier doesn’t need to see to be able to shoot. He squeezes the trigger of the gun and, even though he can hardly hear it firing over the maelstrom of confusion in his head, he feels it vibrating until it’s ripped from his hands and his arms are pulled upwards.

Hanging from his wrists, he feels something hard wind up his thigh and press against the seat of his pants and he shudders.

This is a punishment, he realizes, although he doesn’t know what he could’ve done to warrant it; he relaxes his muscles, allowing his body to fall limply into the grasp of the creature.

The creature doesn’t react when he yields, only slides an appendage under the leg of his trousers to tear them away.

_This is a punishment_ , he tells himself as something curls around his genitals.

_This is a punishment_ , he tells himself when a slick, blunt object presses against his anus.

Whatever is wrapped around his head loosens just as he feels himself starting to lose consciousness and he drags in a breath. A new, strange smell overpowers the scent of mold. It fills his lungs and he tastes it. Tastes like—like—

> _Coffee he stole from some jackass in the 101 st. It’s real, not like the shit they get in the mess tent. Hot and bitter, he can still taste it when he slips a tongue into that mouth, when that mouth whispers his name—whispers—_

The Soldier forces himself back into the present. This is a punishment—he’s not meant to be daydreaming. He remembers attempting to distance himself from punishments in the past, he remembers how they always knew, always made it worse when he did.

_This is a_ _punishment_.

_This is a punishment_.

“ _This is not a punishment_.” The words are spoken, but they seem to resonate from inside his head.

He opens his eyes.

The creature shimmers with blue light, illuminating a haze of yellowish dust in the air and settled on what he can see of the floor. It sparkles on his skin and eyelashes, making him look like he’s made of gold.

“ _Forgive me_ ,” the voice that is not his own says in his head. “ _You are the first suitable host I have found on this planet and I do not have much time left._ ”

His gaze settling on the creature, the Soldier allows himself to observe it.

The creature is an inky black and shiny as if its skin is wet. Tentacles ranging in size from the thickness of a pencil to broader than the Soldier’s torso stem from a central, writhing mass.

_Hydra_ , he says to himself.

“ _No_ ,” the voice replies in his mind, “ _I am not that—the species_ or _the organization to which you belong_.”

Perhaps the creature means that as a comfort, but—

Wait.

No.

No.

The Soldier did not speak the word Hydra—he knows better than that—and yet the creature responded.

He has always been given the privacy of his own thoughts, he has always “ _Calm yourself_.” been given the opportunity to ignore his own traitorous mind before being punished. He tries to “ _I will not punish you for your thoughts._ ” obey, but he cannot control his own brain. “ _This is the only way I am able to communicate with you_.” He is not as skilled as the technicians in conditioning himself.

There is a burst of light, and more of the gold dust settles on the Soldier.

He hadn’t realized he was hyperventilating until he gasps and tastes more of the bitterness in the air.

The Soldier squeezes his eyes shut and tries to force himself to stay in the present, to not think of anything, even if the dust tastes—

> _“—so gross.”_
> 
> _“I know, but it’ll help you feel better. Here, I’ll take some too, then we’ll both have to suffer.”—_

A sound from the room to their right pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks just in time to see two of his handlers in the doorway, guns raised.

“No—” the Soldier says. He doesn’t know who he’s trying to stop, but it’s too late. The creature is already reaching out for them.

One man opens fire on the creature, and it responds with a shrieking roar as it lashes out with its tentacles.

The other men rush into the room while the two gunmen are pulled into the air, knives flashing in their hands. They attempt to slice away the tentacles that come at them, but they’re no match for the countless appendages that come at them.

Some of the tentacles  seize weapons while others attack the men directly, wrapping around their throats or chests. One man is lifted into the air, clawing at the black flesh around his neck, while another is slammed into a wall, his neck breaking with a wet snap.

Watching with detached interest, the Soldier feels a tentacle spiral up his leg and compress his thigh. He looks down and sees blood staining his skin.

Perhaps it is for the best that the rookie’s intestines are spilling from his abdomen.

“ _Were there any others with you_?” the creature asks him.

The Soldier glances around the room, counting the bodies that are dead or gurgling with their final breaths. All of them are present.

Shaking his head, he feels a tentacle already slithering up his chest to break away the clasps of his tac jacket, as if it already had his answer. The heavy leather falls from his shoulders as his soft cotton undershirt is also torn away.

Two tentacles wrap around each of his limbs and the Soldier is tilted back, back, back—

> _—until they hit the crest of the hill, and fall so fast he doesn’t believe they could possibly hit that next incline without crashing._
> 
> _But they don’t crash. The car groans beneath them and they fly back upwards before being jerked to the side._
> 
> _He lets out a whoop of pleasure and looks over. The face next to him is not pleased… and greener than he would like it to be._ _—_

The Soldier hears himself giggle, both at the face his mind shows him _(that glare loses all menace when done with such a sweet face)_ and the feeling of the creature running a tentacle up his chest. The vocalization turns to a groan when the appendage curls around his left pectoral muscle, the tip rubbing his nipple before moving to the right. 

Another tentacle hovers in front of his face to trace his lips. Obligingly, the Soldier opens his mouth.

It dips into his mouth and presses against his tongue.

The Soldier closes his eyes. He remembers this—remembers _kissing_ —although he knows his handlers never kiss him.

He sticks his tongue out and there are no lips to give him access, no teeth to trace, no breathy moans of a name he can’t remember, but the tentacle continues its dance with his tongue and it’s sweet like cotton candy, like icing licked from a bowl, like lips that are pale from anemia and swollen from kissing but soft and warm and loving, like someone who wants the Soldier’s kisses as much as he wants to give them.

Running his tongue up the length of the appendage, he laps at the suckers that cover one side of it before pressing open-mouthed kisses to as much of it as possible.

When the Soldier reaches the tip, it nudges the seam of his lips and slides inward.

He can recall handlers commenting how good he is with his mouth, so the Soldier suckles on it. Liquid flows from the tentacle; it tastes like the dust, but sweeter. Drinking it down, it fills the Soldier’s belly with warmth and—

> — _when was the last time he allowed himself to have a drink? There was the little town they passed a month ago—but, no. He’d kept watch that night._
> 
> _The last time must’ve been when Dugan got a care package from his favorite uncle that had included a bottle of moonshine that felt like fire in his mouth._
> 
> _He shakes at the thought of whatever they’d pumped inside him that’d felt like molten lead as it traced down his arms and into his heart._
> 
> _Taking a swig of whatever’s in his glass, he feels the burn of it in his throat and stomach, but doesn’t feel anything like drunkenness, despite this being his… fifth?_
> 
> _Raucous laughter gets his attention. The men are grinning and patting each other on the back as a broad, golden figure stands at the bar, a bashful smile on his face._
> 
> _It’s bad enough that he can’t get drunk, but that_ and _his best friend getting replaced by some star-spangled Adonis who’s being stared at by every woman and half the men in the room makes him want to—_

Another rush of fluid pours down his throat. The Soldier is starting to feel full, and he tries to pull away to tell the creature, but a tentacle comes and keeps his head in place while the one in his mouth thrusts into his throat.

The Soldier gags and can’t help but to struggle against it while more and more liquid is pumped into him, filling his stomach to the point of distension.

Finally, when he feels on the verge of bursting open, it pulls out, a string of saliva connecting it to his mouth until it breaks and leaves a cold line from his chin to his clavicle. The tentacle that had been rubbing his nipples abandons them to press against his stomach and push the fluid around inside him.

He cries out when his legs are pressed against his abdomen so the creature has better access to his anus.

A tentacle that’s barely the thickness of a finger presses against him. For a moment, it’s only pressure, until his muscles relax enough for it to slide into his body, the compression seemingly causing it to produce slick.

The creature said it wasn’t a punishment, and the Soldier can’t help noting the differences between this—whatever _this_ is—and punishment. He can’t recall a time when his handlers allowed his body to adjust to their girth or even if they’ve ever used lubricant.

After a moment of stillness, it slips further in, then pulls out. The Soldier rolls his hips with the movement.

“Please—”

> _“—More, please,” he moans as two long, thin fingers slide in and out of him. He tries to push back to force the fingers in further, but the hand moves with him._
> 
> _“Fuck,” says a voice behind him, and he feels a hard cock grind against his thigh. The fingers inside him scissor apart._
> 
> _“C’mon, I’m ready. Fuck me, babydoll.”_
> 
> _It seems to take a minute for the man to find his voice. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”_
> 
> _“You won’t.”_
> 
> _He arches his back and feels those fingers slide out of him, only to be replaced by something much bigger._
> 
> _“Oh, fuck,” he groans as pressure becomes penetration. It’s slow going, but eventually he feels skinny hips press against his ass._
> 
> _Reaching back, he grabs one of those hips and feels a hand clutch at his wrist as the body pulls away, pauses, and pushes back in—_

The creature brushes against his prostate almost perfectly in time with the man in his thoughts and, in that instant, the Soldier isn’t quite sure which is real.

For several minutes, the creature focuses on stretching him open. Occasionally, the tentacle inside him swells up, but the Soldier doesn’t resist. It feels… good, which is such a shock that he isn’t even troubled by the images he sees in his head, some of his handlers punishing him, others of blonde men over him, their mouths hanging open in pleasure or twisted in disgust.—

> _—A hand slams into his throat. His mouth flaps open, trying to draw in air._
> 
> _“What did you say?”_
> 
> _He’d said a name. He had thought it was the right one._
> 
> _“How many times do I have to punish you for daydreaming?”_
> 
> _He hadn’t. He’d been staring at the man’s blue eyes and blonde hair and the name had risen to his lips unbidden.—_

A tentacle traces a line up his throat. Gently, as if in sympathy.

He flinches. The memory had been a warning.  

“ _There will be no punishments_ ,” he is reminded in his head. The tentacle moves from his neck to his cheek and he leans into its touch. “ _You are doing me a great favor, by allowing me to do this. It is only right that I make this as pleasurable as possible; bringing you unnecessary harm would undermine that_.”

Inside him, the tentacle twists, then splits into five pieces that each pull outwards to gape his hole open.

Moaning at the stretch, the Soldier arches his back in a silent request to be filled again.

_Please?_ he thinks to the creature.

Something blunter than the creature’s other appendages lines itself up with his opening. The Soldier rolls his hips, trying to get it to enter him.

The thin tentacles stretch him further, and the blunt tentacle moves in.

It’s huge, even with his asshole held open. His muscles resist its size. The Soldier wails as it catches on his sphincter.

A tentacle is jammed into his mouth and he suckles on it instinctively to halt his cries. He doesn’t even care when he has to swallow down another trickle of bittersweet liquid, as it distracts him from his ass being stretched open.

He feels his body struggling to take the creature, feels what may be his body tearing around the intrusion, but there isn’t any pain other than the fullness in his stomach.

The tentacle slides further in with a wet squelch from the smaller tendrils holding him open, which excrete more liquid with every movement of the large tentacle.

Just as he starts to think about telling the creature that it simply won’t fit, that he isn’t enough, that someone else will have to do this because he can’t, something in him yields and the tentacle surges into him.

The Soldier wants to scream, but he can hardly breathe around the feeling of fullness inside him, as if his body’s sole purpose was to be filled like this.

Another trickle of liquid drips into his mouth, then the tentacle pulls itself free of his lips. The Soldier forces air through his throat in a desperate whine.

Pausing, the tentacle is close enough that the Soldier can strain upwards and press his lips to it. The appendage twists away before he can take it into his mouth again.

The large tentacle also begins slipping out of him. The Soldier tries to clench his muscles around it, but it falls out as if his body isn’t tight enough for it.

“No,” he hears himself say. “No. Please, no.” Tears gather in his eyes; the Soldier isn’t allowed to protest his treatment by his handlers. The worst punishments occur when he does.

But the creature’s absence is a punishment like none he has ever known. It is a weight upon him, like the man who must have loved him before his sky blue eyes became scornful, like the name he must have had before he was the Soldier, like the forbidden thoughts that the Soldier knows are his memories, locked away in a mind that doesn’t belong to him anymore.

His arms are still restrained above his head, but he struggles against the bindings until his hands slip free.

Lunging forward, the Soldier catches one tendril in each hand. “Please don’t go,” he sobs and watches as his tears drip onto the mass at the center of the creature.

The huge tentacle slams back into his body and the Soldier grunts as he’s shoved with its force.

His weeping turns to relief as he’s filled so fully he can see his belly bulge outwards.

It slides out and the Soldier’s body has an instant to contract around nothing before it stretches him open again.

The Soldier’s handlers like to take him this way—with him on his hands and knees, ass raised high in the air.

He reminds himself that this isn’t punishment as he rocks in time with the creature’s movements. His handlers like to make it hurt and the creature is doing what it can to avoid harming him.

There was one man who liked him to be on his back—who liked the Soldier to face him. The man was perfect: broad and gold and a painful contrast to the Soldier’s pale, damaged body, but he always said the Soldier was—

> _“—Beautiful.”_
> 
> _“Don’t joke.”_
> 
> _“’M not joking.”_
> 
> _“I know what I look like.” He knows about the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, about the bones that show under his skin, about the broken nails, the bruises, the track marks._
> 
> _“Do you? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’ve been lookin’ in broken mirrors.”_
> 
> _He starts to protest, but his lips are captured in a searing kiss and his hands land on those too-wide shoulders—to pull them closer or push them away, he isn’t sure—but touching that hot skin makes them still and it’s the first time they’ve stopped shaking since the factory. The kiss breaks and those lips move to kiss away the tears he hadn’t realized he was crying._
> 
> _His cheeks dry, the man allows his mouth to wander from his lips to his jawline to his fluttering pulse point._
> 
> _A hand, big and powerful but still deft with long artist’s fingers, wraps around his cock to stroke him._
> 
> _Orgasm hits him embarrassingly quickly. He buries his face in a shoulder so warm it makes his face, burning with shame, feel cool. He clings to the man and feels the tears returning. “Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t leave me.”_
> 
> _“Never,” the man says, and the promise in it feels like a sacred thing. “Never.”_ _—_

The Soldier wonders what happened to the man and how the Soldier failed him that such a vow was broken.

A thick tentacle wraps around his waist and, careful of his swollen abdomen, turns him back over while a tendril spirals up his dick. His foreskin is pulled back to expose the leaking head of his cock, the tip rubbing teasing circles around it.

He closes his eyes and can almost convince himself that the man is there. The man always held him in the same way, always squeezing when his hands reached the crown of his dick.

The creature would like the man in the Soldier’s memories, he thinks. The man wouldn’t shy away from its touches, wouldn’t expect punishment when none was coming. The man could take the creature’s penetration more easily, as well. The Soldier could remember the man’s ass stretching around his wrist, the gasp when the Soldier brushed his knuckles over the man’s prostate, the fingers that curled into his hair when the man’s cock hit the back of his throat.

It would be nice for the man to join them. The Soldier imagines the man there, imagines the contrast of his entire body flushed a sweet pink and striped with the glossy, black appendages. They could kiss, the Soldier thinks, could tangle their limbs together while the creature takes them.

The Soldier is treated to the image of them sucking each other off as their bodies are stretched around tentacles.

He opens his eyes and groans at the thought of sharing this with the man, of their bodies softening with the creature’s brood, of the man filling him even further with his cum.

But that isn’t possible. The man is—the man is—

> _“—Dead.”_
> 
> _“Bullshit,” he says. He doesn’t have the energy to try and keep himself from shaking, but he’s strapped to a table, so it’s not like it matters if he does. “You’re—” he pants around the pain, “You’re just trying to—trying to make me give up. He’ll come crashin’ in here any minute now. He’s probably in the building already.”_
> 
> _“I would not be so sure of that.” The man says, his piggish features twisting into a smile._
> 
> The Soldier knows that face like he knows his left arm, like he knows the gasping breaths and the mindless terror before a freezing.
> 
> _“Fuck off, Zola. We both know you’re just as afraid of Steve as you are of Red Skull.”_
> 
> _“I have no reason to fear them. Why fear a dead man?”_
> 
> _A newspaper is held up for him._ Rogers Vanishes _is emblazoned on the top. “You cannot deny it, Sergeant. Your friend is dead.”_
> 
> _Bucky doesn’t say that the sight of Steve—even a grainy picture of him—still takes his breath away._
> 
> _“Fear is for those who lack strength, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola continues, tossing away the newspaper. “We no longer have any use for it.” His eyes trail down Bucky’s naked body and Bucky can’t get himself to care that Zola’s eyes pause on his exposed privates. “Even if they still lived, I would not fear those supersoldiers. Do you know why, Sergeant?”_
> 
> _His grin widens when Bucky doesn’t respond._
> 
> _Zola runs a hand down his chest. “I do not fear them because I am in possession of a greater one,” he says, and leaves Bucky with the words still hanging in the air._
> 
> _Bucky cranes his neck to see the paper lying on the floor, half-hidden under a table. One of Steve’s eyes stares out at him._
> 
> _Squeezing his own eyes shut, Bucky swallows the lump that’s caught in his throat. He won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry._
> 
> _But he’d always promised to be by Steve’s side until the very end, and he didn’t keep that promise._ _—_

The  Soldier— _Bucky_ —watches the world blur around him as tears fall from his eyes again.

Loss is a pain deep inside him. Hard and cold, like his heart never thawed after cryo.

How could he have forgotten? How many times has he mourned Steve’s death, only to forget it all when Hydra took the memories from him?

He feels something moving beneath his still-clenched hands and realizes the creature has set him down on the writhing mass from which all the tentacles stem; his body is empty except for the liquid which sloshes in his stomach.

For a time, he succeeded in keeping his tears unshed, but eventually his strength wore out and he let the fear and despair take over.

Now, he openly weeps. If there was no point in fighting when no one was going to rescue him, then there’s no point in fighting when they’ve already won.

The creature touches his back. “ _I can help you_ ,” it says.

He shakes his head. It’s been _decades_. Nothing can be done.

A tentacle lifts his chin. “ _If you consent, I can take the memories from you_.”

The words seem to echo in his brain.—

> _—“Sergeant Barnes, would you not like for me to take this pain from you? It is not my intention to bring you harm.”_
> 
> _Bucky grinds his teeth together, stares at the ceiling, and doesn’t allow himself to look at the newspaper on the floor._
> 
> _“Why do you torture yourself like this?”_
> 
> _He digs the fingers of his right hand into his palm and can almost feel his destroyed left arm copying the movement._
> 
> _“Allow me to give you this gift.”_
> 
> _Bucky never says yes, but he doesn’t fight them when the mouth guard slides between his teeth or when metal plates are pressed against his head or when the machine powers up and he feels a lightning storm in his brain._
> 
> _His eyes open. A man stands above him._
> 
> _“Sergeant Barnes,” he says._
> 
> _“Who?” He feels himself mouth the word, but his throat feels raw and—and he was screaming, wasn’t he? Or—or he’d been watching someone screaming?_
> 
> _"The procedure was a success,” the man says triumphantly._
> 
> _In response, the whole room seems to explode with activity: numbers are recited, objects are moved._
> 
> _He looks around and sees a newspaper on the floor, a quarter of a man’s face printed on it._ _—_

“No.”

The creature doesn’t question him, doesn’t push him to reconsider. It simply replies, “ _Very well_ ,” and allows him to work through his grief.

His sobs are drowned out by the storm raging outside. Flashes of lightning fill the sky and he sees his face reflected on the back of his left hand. Each time, he sees features he hadn’t even remembered having.

As his breathing evens out, he runs his right hand over one of the tentacles undulating beneath him.

“You can finish, if you’d like,” he says.

There’s a moment before the creature responds. “ _Only if you consent_.”

He scoffs. “I consent, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it up for you again.”

The creature’s glow becomes brighter and brighter before another flurry of the gold dust drifts onto his skin.

He bends forward to lap up the dust that sparkles on the tentacles beneath him and freezes. He’d forgotten he wasn’t with his handlers at the moment, that he didn’t need to submit.

A tentacle drags itself through his hair, reminiscent of an artist’s long fingers, and presses him back down. The juxtaposition of kindness and dominance is strangely comforting.

He expects the huge appendage to return, but the tentacle that presses into him is thinner and tapered. His body takes it easily as it slides in.

The tip belies the tentacle’s actual size—it pushes in further, until his body is almost as stretched as it was with the blunter intrusion, but he can practically taste it with how deep it is.

His cock isn’t neglected: a tendril slips between his thighs to curl around his balls. Another wraps up his length.

Groaning as his erection is stroked within the sheath of his foreskin, he presses his lips to the knot of tentacles beneath his hands. One allows itself to be pulled into his mouth, his jaw almost dislocating around the girth of it folded in two.

The suckers slide over his tongue as it withdraws from his mouth, only to return unfolded. It slithers between his teeth to fuck his throat.

Like the tentacle in his ass, it thrusts further and further into him and he wonders if they’ll try to meet in the middle, if he’s just a puppet for the creature the way he is for Hydra, if the creature plans to fill him with itself and keep him as its plaything until its goal—whatever that is—has been achieved.

He wouldn’t mind that, he thinks. The creature is kind to him, doesn’t want to hurt him, allowed him to mourn. Perhaps, with time, it would learn to give him pain to mix with the pleasure, to test his body’s limits while he begged for more.

The thought has only started to develop when more tentacles squeeze into his ass beside the longer one.

Arching his back, he grabs the meat of his ass to spread himself wider and—

> _—Lips press to his asshole, soft and sweet._
> 
> _Bucky curls around the pillow stuffed under his hips and bites his lips to keep from moaning._
> 
> _Two large hands cover his own, the thumbs open him just a little more to make room for a tongue to flick at his puckered flesh._
> 
> _A third hand moves under his belly and he feels long nails scrape against his skin—_
> 
> _—And he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding on the silk that encases his legs._
> 
> _His now-exposed hole is prodded at with dry fingers before something hard and cold takes their place. It takes him a moment to realize it’s the hilt of his knife._
> 
> _At least it isn’t the blade this time._
> 
> _He forces his muscles to relax; it almost doesn’t hurt._
> 
> _“Told you he could take it,” a voice says above him._
> 
> _“I still don’t want to fuck him.”_
> 
> _“Oh, come on. A hole’s a hole.”_
> 
> _The knife is removed in a single, vicious movement, leaving him twitching around—_
> 
> _—Nothing, but Bucky can feel warm breath on his skin._
> 
> _“Think he’s ready?” Steve asks._
> 
> _“Please,” Bucky whispers. “Please, I’m ready, baby. C’mon, fuck me.”_
> 
> _Peggy slides her fingers into him, gentle as always. A hand traps him against her body. “And what would you do if I said you weren’t ready yet?”_
> 
> _Bucky rolls his hips as much as he can. “I’m ready. I am.” He groans when Peggy doesn’t agree with him. “Tell him I’m ready and I’ll eat you out for as long as you want,” he offers._
> 
> _“You do that already.” He can hear the smile in her voice._
> 
> _Panting, Bucky tries to think of something else he can bargain with, but he’s too far gone for anything other than the taste of Peggy’s body to come to mind._
> 
> _She doesn’t say he’s ready, but Bucky feels Steve’s cock lining up with him beneath her fingers._
> 
> _Bucky’s stretched open around them and—_
> 
> _“—I told you he was tight.”_
> 
> _He rocks forward with the force of the man’s hips slamming against him._
> 
> _A hand presses on his head and he bends his arms until his cheek rests on the mattress._
> 
> _The change in angle causes the man to brush against the place inside him that makes him have to bite his lips to keep from gasping._
> 
> _“Look at this whore,” a hand grasps him tightly. He flinches away from the pain, which thrusts the intrusion further into his body. “Trying to fuck yourself on me, huh?”_
> 
> _“He’d spread his legs for anyone—”_
> 
> _“—God, Buck,” Steve whispers as he rams into Bucky._
> 
> _Feeling suspended between the two of them, Bucky braces an arm on the bed to keep still while he laps at Peggy’s cunt and slips two fingers into her. He curls them against the spot that makes her writhe beneath his lips._
> 
> _Scratching at his scalp, she tightens her fingers in his hair and pulls gently. “You’re so perfect for us, darling.”_
> 
> _Adding a third digit in appreciation, Bucky moans against her._
> 
> _Steve wraps a hand around Bucky’s length and pumps him in time with each thrust of his hips. “Perfect,” he agrees, and bends to press kisses in a line up Bucky’s back—_

The tentacle in his mouth pulls out with a pop, bringing him back to the present.

“ _They were affectionate towards you,_ ” the creature says.

“Steve and Peg?” he asks, leaning in to nuzzle and kiss it.

“ _My kind do not experience such bonds with mates._ ”

He feels himself quirk an eyebrow. The expression is old--certainly something he wouldn't do in the presence of his handlers. “They weren't my _mates_. I…I couldn't even step out with Steve and Peg was always his girl more than mine.”

The memory flashes through his mind again. It had been their last night together; he and Peggy hadn’t fucked more than a handful of times before that, but…

But he missed her, too. Steve had loved her, so Bucky learned to love her, too.

He runs his hands over the suckers on one tentacle. They cling to his skin and leave the pink beginnings of welts wherever they go.

Looking at the mass of tendrils beneath him, he asks, “Why are you doing this?” and shudders, half expecting the creature to reprimand him for questioning it. “I could understand if you just wanted to fuck me. I—I wouldn’t care—”

“ _You are unused to kindness_.”

“You—You said you don’t feel affection for your—”

“ _You are not my mate_ ,” the creature says, and there’s a hint of malice—of something deeper that he could never understand, before the words come to a screeching halt in his mind. “ _You are a host_ ,” it says calmly after a moment’s pause. “ _We are permitted to experience sympathy for those who suffer._  

“Is that why you chose me?”

“ _I chose you because you may survive this process_.”

He doesn’t say that he isn’t human. “So, I might not survive?”

“ _It is unlikely a mating would kill you.”_

Disappointment aches in his chest.

“ _You would prefer if it killed you_?”

“Yes.”

And he knows—he can _feel_ —how much it would hurt Steve to know that.

“ _Forgive me, but your death would mean the death of my offspring._ ”

“I’m not askin’ you to kill me—I just… wouldn’t stop you if you did.”

A tentacle coils up his neck, the tip comes to rest on his lower lip. “ _For such a beautiful creature to crave death_.” He allows the tendril to enter his mouth, to caress his tongue. “ _It is a tragedy_.”

He doesn’t want to reply to that. For Steve to say that was one thing—he was still a _person_ then, still a man who hadn’t been born of blood and slaughter and weakness, still a man who hadn’t surrendered to those who had killed the person he loved more than life itself, still a man who hadn’t been complicit in the destruction of everything Steve Rogers held dear.

Instead, he focuses on the weight of the creature’s appendage. It slides down his throat, tasting more like the tang of beer than the bitterness of coffee.

When the tentacle pulls out of his mouth, he rolls onto his back and sits up, his hands placed just behind his hips to keep him vertical. The mass beneath his palms softens and his hands slide into the knot of black flesh, sinking back down until his arms are completely engulfed.

Two more tentacles curl around his knees and push his legs up so far his cock hangs over his face and he could practically give himself a blowjob.

Tentacles come at him from every angle—some fondle his nipples, others caress his skin, still more curl around his dick.

Groaning, he watches a bead of precome drip onto his chest. It trickles down to pool in the hollow of his throat, only to be scooped up by the tentacle around his neck.

He sucks on the tendril, tasting himself mixed with the flavor of the creature.—

> _—A finger slips into his mouth._
> 
> _Bucky gasps, curling his tongue around that calloused skin to clean it of any taste of himself._
> 
> _He wants to move, to push Steve onto his back and give the not-so-little punk a taste of his own medicine, but Steve’s broad hand presses onto his chest, keeping him prone._
> 
> _Swinging a leg over Bucky, Steve kneels on him, which pins him even more effectively._
> 
> _But Bucky has an ace up his sleeve. He leans forward as far as he can and catches Steve’s dick in his mouth._
> 
> _Steve bites his knuckles to keep from making any noise loud enough to be heard outside the thin fabric of the tent while Bucky sucks him._
> 
> _Bucky decides to take pity on him and releases his cock with a gentle lick._
> 
> _“Need help keeping quiet, babydoll?” he whispers._
> 
> _Steve nods, his skin flushed with arousal._
> 
> _Grinning, Bucky pushes on his legs. “Get off me.”_
> 
> _Moving like he’s just been burnt, Steve hauls himself upwards and far enough over that Bucky can sit up. He lies back down when Bucky gives him a shove._
> 
> _Bucky feeds his cock into Steve’s mouth and flattens himself to Steve’s chest. He bats the hand that Steve had been jacking himself off with and wraps his own around Steve’s erection._
> 
> _Steve is too busy gagging to moan.—_

He kneels on the mass of tentacles almost without meaning it, too caught up in the memory to pay attention to his surroundings.

Running his hands over the inky flesh, he finds that they’re a little sticky, and the faint smell that wafts from them reminds him of the beers he and Steve would share while sitting on the fire escape outside their apartment.

As his thumb slides over the side of one tendril, it twists closer, catlike, to rub itself against him.—

> — _“This your first time?” the man asks._
> 
> _“W—With a man, yeah,” Bucky replies as he fumbles with his tie._
> 
> _The man comes over and loosens the fabric for him. It slips out from under his collar with a gentle pull from the man’s strong hands. He takes Bucky’s hands and leads them to his chest. “You’re allowed to touch, you know.”_
> 
> _Bucky feels his hands shake against the man’s body; the tremors are echoed throughout his body as his shirt falls from his shoulders._
> 
> _Leaning in for a kiss, the man’s fingers touch the fly of Bucky’s trousers._
> 
> _He can’t help squirming away from that. “I—I need to go.”_
> 
> _“Hey!” Arms wrap around him, pulling him against the broad, bare chest behind him. “Come on, kid. Give me a chance.” The man presses his lips to Bucky’s throat. “Five minutes. If you’re still not sure after five minutes, I’ll let you go.” Two fingers trace through the line of hair that leads from his navel to his dick, before sliding over the waistband of his trousers to cup him through the fabric._
> 
> _Bucky takes a breath, blood rushing to fill his cock as he grinds into the man’s palm. “Okay.”_
> 
> _The man turns him around and kisses him again. This time, Bucky hangs onto the man’s shoulders, thinking of the way dames have held him the same way, while the man busies himself with unzipping Bucky’s fly._
> 
> _He pushes down Bucky’s trousers and underwear and breaks their kiss, so he can kneel down and take Bucky’s cock into his mouth_
> 
> _Bucky gasps, his hands jumping to the man’s hair. It’s thick and dark, with just a little silver at the temples, and the man groans when Bucky’s fingers pull gently. The vibrations send pleasure coursing through him, and he pulls harder._
> 
> _The man stands back up, his mouth finding Bucky’s shoulder to suck a bruise there while his hand slips into the cleft of Bucky’s ass. He probes at Bucky’s hole with a dry fingertip._
> 
> _“Please—” Bucky whimpers. “Please, not that.”_
> 
> _“Not ready for it?” the man whispers against the skin that joins Bucky’s neck and shoulder, his hand pausing in its ministrations._
> 
> _Bucky shakes his head, fearing the man’s reaction._
> 
> _“What if we try something else?” the man asks._
> 
> _“Like—like what?”_
> 
> _He’s lead to the bed in the corner of the room, where the man has him get on all fours._
> 
> _Wet noises come from behind him and Bucky tenses up. The man said they weren’t gonna do that. He’d have to get through the man if he wanted to leave, but he’s bigger than Bucky and could overpower him if he wanted._
> 
> _A slick hand rubs Bucky’s hip. “Okay, kid. Here goes.”_
> 
> _Bucky bites his lip, preparing himself for the pain of being torn open by the man’s cock—_
> 
> _But there isn’t any pain. The man’s cock slides between his thighs, a hand reaching out to find Bucky’s erection pumps him in time with the man’s thrusts—_

—He remembers that night fondly. The man, Charlie, had been a regular at the bathhouse and was many of Bucky’s firsts.

He wonders what happened to Charlie, if he ever settled down or if he’s still visiting the same old bathhouses and gently turning shy young men into sinners.

Two thick tentacles wrap around his wrists and press them into the mass beneath him. —

> _—“C’mon, Stevie, I’m not gonna bite.”_
> 
> _When Steve doesn’t respond, Bucky grabs those thin, pale hands and leads them to his own chest. A fine tremor runs through Steve’s whole body—_

—Steve had needed so much encouragement, and he can’t help smiling when he remembers having to challenge Steve— _“What, you scared or something?”_ —before he did anything more than kissing.

But when Steve _did_ reach out, when he _did_ let himself touch, he loved it. His lips had sought out Bucky’s while his thin fingers cupped Bucky through his trousers. It wasn’t long before he was on his knees, listening to Bucky’s gasped instructions on how to give a blowjob.

When they finally stopped holding back, it was like heaven. It became harder _not_ to touch. Bucky hated every moment they couldn’t hold each other, every moment they couldn’t tell the world how they felt.

It only worsened when Steve became Captain America, and all eyes seemed to be on him. Even Peggy had to keep her distance sometimes.

He remembers the brief amount of time he’s had to remember Steve since falling from that train, remembers how his body had _ached_ for Steve’s touch, remembers dreaming about it every night he was strapped to a table in Zola’s lab, and…

And he realizes that he _wants_ to touch the creature, that he _wants_ to take part in this.

“I—”

The words catch in his throat; he doesn’t know how to convey this want. He has spent too long praying for every touch to leave him.

The frozen solitude of cryo has always been preferable to punishing caresses of his handlers.

“Please, may I touch you?”

Tentacles surge forward, each seemingly trying to gain his attention so it can make contact. The smallest curl against his skin while larger ones wrap around his limbs. One tentacle is larger than any others he has seen—too large even for his destroyed asshole to take—and it rubs against his distended belly in a way that seems almost dejected.

He wraps his legs around it, thinking of how Charlie liked to fuck him.

The tentacle thrusts between his thighs, excreting slick, and grinds against his cock.

Moaning, he arches his back to press his hardening flesh into it while thinner tendrils press into the small of his back to deepen its curve or squeeze his legs tighter around the large tentacle.

He huffs a laugh when one tendril rubs his neck at his pulse point, right where Steve used to like to kiss and bite him.

A small appendage rubs against his cheek and slides into his mouth when he parts his lips obligingly. It tangles with his tongue sweetly, occasionally spiraling up its length and jerking it as if it’s giving a hand job.

He whimpers when two of the tentacles curl around his nipples. One uses its suction cups to draw it up to a stiff peak while the other rubs against the dusky pink flesh, leaving a trail of wet lubricant behind.

His dick finally starts to take an interest when a tendril squeezes around his balls; it wraps itself around the base of them and pulls gently on them so every thrust of his hips sends little shockwaves of pleasure/pain down his spine.

The movements from the tentacle between his thighs become more and more erratic as he grinds against it.

It thrusts hard enough against him that it slides halfway up his chest and halts for a moment before sliding back down his body. With a final, vicious thrust, it tenses up and splatters a thick white fluid across his body.

He moans as the hot liquid drips down his body. A droplet of it landed on the tendril that is fondling his tongue, so he sucks it into his mouth enough that he can taste it.

He reaches down and strokes the large tentacle as the tangy, beer-like flavor coats his taste buds. It still pulses as liquid spurts out of its tip.

It coils up his body, spreading the liquid to his back, lowers him back down to the knotted mass, and slides away with a seeming reluctance.

Two tentacles nudge his legs apart, to make room for a third to slide into him. It’s small—hardly the size of his own cock—and fucks him even more gently that Steve did when they were still learning how strong his body was—

> _—“Christ, Bucky! You should’ve said something!”_
> 
> _“And ruin your fun?”_
> 
> _“Hurting you isn’t_ fun _!” Steve’s gaze lingers on the bruises that circle Bucky’s wrists._
> 
> _“I’ve had worse, Steve.”_
> 
> _That seems to enrage Steve further, so Bucky grabs his hands, places them on his own hips._
> 
> _He goes for broke._
> 
> _“I liked it, Stevie.”_
> 
> _Those blue, blue eyes widen._
> 
> _Bucky leans in for a chaste kiss._
> 
> _“I liked you holding me down. I liked you being rough.”_
> 
> _He feels Steve’s hands tighten on his bare skin._
> 
> _“I liked you hurting me.”_
> 
> _Fingers dig into his flesh hard enough for more bruises to form—_

—He tries to tighten the muscles of his asshole so he can feel  the tentacle inside him, but he can still hardly feel it inside his stretched hole.

The tendril in his mouth dribbles out more of the same liquid that’s starting to get cold on his belly and gives his tongue a quick tug before slithering back down into the mass beneath him.

Something presses against the rim of his hole where it’s gaped around the small appendage. It presses in alongside and he gasps as it _almost_ fills him enough.

Fucking into him with the same tender rhythm, the two tentacles open him up. They spread apart after every few thrusts to expose the delicate skin inside of him to the warm, humid air.

His cock leaks precome onto his belly, adding to the pool of spending the large tentacle left behind. The feeling of his own hand curling around it is almost foreign.

He doesn’t know if he’s masturbated since falling from that train in the Alps, and touching himself after being tortured by Zola always made him think of strange hands roaming clinically over his flesh, measuring his responses to various stimuli.

He shakes his head. He wants to feel good right now, and thinking about torture won’t help him.

The head of his cock is shiny with the precome that drips from it and he draws a circle around it with his thumb.

Sliding his hand upwards, he watches with fascination as it’s partially covered by his foreskin, and then bared when he strokes downward.

A drop of precome beads at the tip as a third tentacle pushes into him, this is one even thinner than the previous two, but can maneuver itself well enough to tease at his prostate.

He rocks against the sensations, the movements of his hand countering those of the tentacles.

His cock twitches within the ring of his hand, slick with precome and hard enough that it curves slightly towards his belly.

A whimper escapes his throat before he bites his lip, remembering—

> _—Steve clamps a hand over Bucky’s mouth as he moans at the sensation._
> 
> _It takes a second, but he manages to get himself under control._
> 
> _“You okay?” Steve whispers._
> 
> _Bucky nods behind his hand._
> 
> _As he takes away his hand, Steve shifts a little on Bucky’s cock, sending another wave of pleasure running through him._
> 
> _Bucky’s prepared for it this time, and only gasps.—_

—He strokes himself faster, the thought of Steve’s ass clenched around him drives him to orgasm just as the tentacle brushes against his prostate. He doesn’t allow himself to make a sound other than the wet noises that inevitably come from his masturbation.

White streaks of his ejaculate spray across his body to mingle with what remains of what the first tentacle left behind.

Panting like he’s run a marathon, he lets his hand—now sticky with his cum—fall down onto the mass of tentacles.

How long has it been since he had an orgasm that wasn’t used against him? Without it being a prelude to violence or an exhibition of his brokenness, proving that all of him is _theirs_ and that even the most private parts of him are not his own?

He listens to the sounds of the monsoon raging through the city as he basks in the afterglow. The tentacles in his ass him slide against each other as they continue to fuck him with the same gentle rhythm.

One begins to glow. Shimmering blue light spreads down its length to where it connects with the mass, and every other tentacle becomes illuminated until he can see every inch of the room, from the corpses still scattered around to the scars and freckles that decorate his own body.  

The tentacles flash, but no dust falls from them this time. Instead, one tentacle pushes its way into his mouth and pumps liquid down his throat.

Every drop seems to make his dick harder. By the third mouthful, it’s started leaking precome onto his thigh.

He whimpers when a tentacle wraps itself up his cock.

The tentacles pull out of him, leaving his hole twitching in the humid air.

Lifting his head, he watches across his body as a tentacle lines itself up with him. Unlike the other tentacles he’s seen so far, this one has regularly spaced bulges up its length.

It pushes into him, the bulges catching on his sphincter and flows deeper and deeper, stretching more of him open with every inch.

He can’t be sure of how far it is into his body when it finally stops, but his insides cramp around it when the objects move within the sheath of the tentacle.

When it finally stops, so far inside him that he can’t even be sure of how far into his body it is, he feels the bulges shift.

The tip of the tentacle grows larger as the bulges move, and one slides free of it.

He can’t help surging upwards at the foreign feeling of—of—of _whatever it is_ as it’s propelled into him.

Tentacles rise up around him and cover him like a blanket to keep him still.

“ _Calm yourself,_ ” the creature commands him. “ _My offspring will bring you no harm._ ”

The tendril coiled around his dick begins stroking him as more and more of the—the _eggs_ are pumped through the tentacle into his ass.

Caught between the discomfort of his intestines being filled with eggs and the stimulation on his cock, he squirms under the restraint the tentacles provide. Rocking his hips relieves some of his discomfort, and he clutches at the tendrils under him. He doesn’t want to fight, but his body instinctively doesn’t want it—wants to make it stop.

He focuses on his cock to keep his mind off of the cramping of his guts.

A tentacle brushes his cheek, leaving his skin wet with slick. “ _You are obeying me perfectly,_ ” it says.

His cock twitches at the praise, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the tendril.

It wraps around his throat and tightens just enough for him to feel lightheaded.

Relaxing even further, he submits, letting his head fall backwards onto the support of the mass of tentacles. His insides finally yield to the eggs, allowing them to move throughout his abdomen unobstructed.

Pleasure begins to outweigh pain; his hips thrust into the flesh enveloping his cock. He comes again, his semen a collection of white streaks contrasted against the black tentacles, but his dick doesn’t flag, and only seems to get harder with his orgasm.

He watches as the last few eggs travel down the tentacle in his ass to be deposited in his intestines. His stomach is swollen with them and, with a few experimental twists, he finds that he can hardly move.

The tentacle inside of him pulls out, and his hole doesn’t have a chance to gape before it’s filled again by another gigantic appendage.

He whines as liquid spills from it. His belly could burst from the pressure, but the layer of tentacles on top of him keep him safe, pressing just enough on his stomach to keep the liquid flowing through him until his insides are full to the brim.

When a trickle of fluid drips from his destroyed anus, the tentacle begins fucking him brutally.

The liquid sloshes inside him the eggs shifting like they’re caught in a tide.

He comes the first time the tentacle brushes his prostate, and again less than a minute later, but his cock remains hard and his hips continue thrusting a counter-beat to the tentacle’s movements.

Every touch to his prostate, every squeeze of the tentacle around his dick, every swing of his balls makes him come. Keeping track of his orgasms becomes increasingly difficult, especially when his body simply can’t produce any more sperm, and he can only twitch with the sensory overload.

Maybe it’s all a single orgasm, drawn out by the creature fucking him hard enough that his mind can’t comprehend it any longer.

His mouth hangs open as he tries to breathe, but even his lungs fail him. He wonders if his heart is still beating, or if the creature was wrong and he _has_ died.

Something drips onto his face, and he doesn’t know if it’s tears or blood or the monsoon finally breaking through the ceiling.

The tentacle in his ass gives a final spurt that leaks out his sphincter before pulling out.

A rush of liquid spills from his hole, splashing onto the mass of tentacles.

Feeling spent like never before, he doesn’t think he could stand if his life depended on it.

He gasps for breath and clings to the tentacles still cradling him as the creature lowers him to the ground, its tentacles sluggishly releasing his skin. Everywhere they had been touching is streaked with the same inky black as the creature’s flesh.

His clothes are scattered across the floor nearby, and the fetor stench of rotting corpses wafts over him.

Long since accustomed to the smell of death, he curls up on the ground as much as his swollen midsection allows, and watches the creature.

It’s seemed graceful since he first saw it, but now it sways like a drunk. Several of the tentacles have beads of liquid forming on them that splash onto the floor. The mass of tentacles shivers like it can hardly hold itself together, while some tentacles have collapsed onto the floor, oozing the black liquid.

He reaches out for one, and it slithers weakly around his arm, leaving more of the black liquid smeared on his skin. He nuzzles it with his cheek.

“ _Thank you_ ,” the creature says to him as his eyes drift closed.

Thunder rumbles distantly around him as rain showers from the sky and drips from the ceiling. He falls into a deep sleep, the symphony of nature like a lullaby.


	2. Mission Report: September 9th, 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hydra finds the Soldier (and what remains of his handlers).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally unbetaed, so any and all errors are mine.

Mission: Retrieve all possible intel from Manolo Baboyan. 

8 September: Alpha team was sent to abandoned Tandang Sora warehouse, where a meeting had previously been arranged with Baboyan at 1900. 

9 September: By 0200 Alpha team had not arrived at rendezvous location. Bravo team arrived at Tandang Sora warehouse approximately 0250. The first five floors of the warehouse were empty. Remains thought to belong to Manolo Baboyan and three other men were found on the sixth floor. The bodies of Alpha team were located and identified on seventh floor. Causes of death range from blunt force trauma to neurogenic shock to puncture wounds. 

Asset was only surviving member of Alpha team. It was unconscious but no severe injuries were found. Abdominal distension noted on Asset, as well as signs of a possible gunshot wound on the anterior of its left thigh. Asset displayed obvious signs of sexual contact. Its skin was streaked with a black, tar-like substance. (See samples TS-730909-A5, TS-730909-A6.) 

Asset remained unconscious during transport to base. Upon revival, it was unusually hostile and made several references to past missions and former handlers. It spoke in length regarding its own past and connections to [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Asset also recognized [REDACTED] and made disparaging comments regarding his position within the organization. Debriefing was attempted, but Asset was belligerent and refused to give any information regarding what killed Alpha team or the sexual contact. It is not believed the Asset was directly involved in their deaths. Tests were taken of the Asset’s blood, as well as the contents of pumped stomach. (See samples TS-730909-A19, TS-730909-A26.) 

[REDACTED] was consulted for information. Memory wipe and cryo freeze were suggested, once all samples were taken. Two sessions of electroconvulsive therapy were required to return the Asset to a state of compliance. Cryo freeze was implemented after cleaning. 

See pages TS-5-7 for analysis of all samples. 

**Author's Note:**

> A Jeepney is a common form of public transportation in the Philippines, originally made from WWII military jeeps. 
> 
>    
> Click [here](http://lourdesdeath.tumblr.com/post/150303933105) for some background info on the fic. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Come find me on tumblr!](lourdesdeath.tumblr.com)


End file.
